Hi to all of you out there. It's been a while, I know. I started business school in the fall and things were a lot busier than I expected between the whole making new friends and recruiting for summer internships. I'm also starting to plan a wedding now - yay!

All of that took me away from reading and posting for a little while. But, over the past few weeks I've read quite a bit, and little by little I'll get reviews up for all of those.

But for now, let's talk about The Nightingale. I was waiting for months on my library's list to get this book, before I finally broke down and bought it on Kindle. Our family shares an account so there are often loads of different titles in there, but I was walking with my mom and telling her about this book I was just starting, and she said "Oh that was you that bought that? I thought it was your sister!"

Little did I know, the author is a major romance novelist. Not usually my cup of tea, definitely my mom's though! I was about a quarter of the way through at that point, and I was fairly shocked. It didn't seem like that kind of book at all. We theorized that maybe it wasn't the same author - it was. I don't know Hannah's oeuvre well enough to comment on how this one fits in, but to all of you out there who aren't so into the romance genre, don't let the name scare you away!

I picked up this book, because as regular readers of the blog might know, I have a major obsession with World War II related topics. And France. This novel concerns a pair of sisters, Vianne and Isabelle, who experience the occupation of France by the Germans. Vianne is a mother, who continues to believe that things will soon get better. She lives by the motto of endure. Isabelle is younger and more spirited, and is continually looking for ways to resist the enemy occupation. The two personalities are naturally somewhat at odds and the book charts the actions of both through the course of the war.

The book is well written and the story reads incredibly quickly. Before I know it I was hooked and gobbling up a hundred pages at a time. The characters are well-developed and I loved the way the author chose to conclude. I can't point to anything in particular that I really disliked. It probably wasn't the greatest story ever written (if you are looking for a good WWII book try All The Light We Cannot See, reviewed on the blog). But, I really enjoyed reading it and I think you probably would too.

So, I'm still working through the Game of Thrones series (have just moved on to Book 5), and I decided early that I'd just do one post for the series rather than individual write ups for each book. As such, I'm realizing that a month has lapsed since I last posted - eek!

A few weeks ago (somewhere between books 2 and 3 of GOT), I picked up Amanda Ripley's The Smartest Kids In The World. I had actually been pretty excited about this book for a while, but just never got around to reading it. Besides having been a student and having more than a couple friends who worked with Teach for America, I don't have any personal connection to education and was therefore pretty thrilled to have found a book with such good reviews that aimed to talk about countries that were really excelling in education (and why). I thought this would be an interesting introduction to the issues plaguing the public school system in the United States and how the rest of the world - Finland, Poland, and South Korea in the case of this book - were tackling these issues and purportedly succeeding where the U.S. was failing.

The book is short and I quickly fell into the story, reading from start to finish in an afternoon. Ripley follows three American teenagers from diverse backgrounds through their foreign exchange program experience. Kim, hailing from a small town in Oklahoma with a middling school system, travels to Finland. A recent graduate from a top high school in Minnesota, Eric heads off to spend a year in South Korea. The final student, Tom moves from Gettysburg, Pennsylvania to Poland. Eric's experience in South Korea was most memorable for me, particularly because of how profoundly negative it is (he ends up dropping out of his program but remaining in the country). Though I had the sense from pervading stereotypes that Asian schooling was intense, reading the specifics of it was a little mind-boggling. For example, in Busan, South Korea, where Eric was staying, most students attend school from 8am until 11pm, when they return home only because of mandatory curfews. Family life revolves around schooling and tutoring and most of these students existence seems to be defined by their scores on college entrance tests.

I was so caught up in each of the three stories that I quickly plowed from one cover to the next. It wasn't until after I put the book down that I realized some of the deficiencies. For one, Ripley's thesis about education and what countries produce "the smartest kids in the world" is based on the results of a single international exam. Furthermore, this book follows three students. Though they come from different backgrounds, their experiences can hardly be representative. Additionally, I felt as if Ripley's implied course of action, mimicking parts of successful school systems in other countries to better overall US public school education, failed to take into account many of the issues that American schools are facing - teacher's unions, for example.

If you had asked me while I was reading the book if I liked it, I would probably have recommended it. The writing was great and the story lines were compelling. In addition, I found myself learning about different school systems and reconsidering what it must have been like for some of my classmates entering college. However, having finished the book, I think I've realized that though I enjoyed it, it really is a fairly fluffy book. It was good for a few interesting facts and nice rainy day activity, but not much more beyond that.

So, I actually listened to the audiobook version of this book, which I had actually read previously a few years back one spring when I devoured most of Krakauer's oeuvre, so this review might be cheating a little given that this was a second "read" through. I was out hiking the trails in Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon National Park, and the Grand Canyon (highly recommend!) last week. In between the hikes, we drove across Utah and Arizona, passing numerous sites of Mormon history, many of which are areas that Krakauer writes in the book, which really helped to ground the information. The story begins with a murder of a mother and her baby in Utah in 1984. Brenda and Erica Lafferty were violently killed by Brenda’s brothers-in-law, Ron and Dan Lafferty, who claimed to have received a revelation from God commanding them to carry out the murders. Krakauer uses this story as a launch point to discuss the Mormon faith and the divergences in belief that spawned Mormon Fundamentalist churches, communities, and believers (like the Lafferty brothers). The book covers the founding of the religion by Joseph Smith and the move westward from New York to Utah, as well as the introduction to and eventual removal of the practice of polygamy from the mainstream church. The book itself is extremely interesting, though perhaps a little outdated at this point (for example, Krakauer discusses one fundamentalist community and its leadership under Warren Jeffs, who was imprisoned in 2007). My only compunction is that the book meandered a bit more than I would have liked, and often the explanations of family trees for these large and sometimes incestuous communities were hard to follow. Nevertheless, I think anyone who has an interest in religion, or is curious about the Mormon faith (and some of the wider publicized digressions linked to the church – yes, those of you who like reading about crime!) would enjoy Under the Banner of Heaven. For me, this was an excellent supplement to my trip out west and I loved learning about the history (sordid and contentious as it might be) of Utah and Arizona.

Just a note of caution, the story becomes quite violent in the scenes describing the murders and there is mention of rape and incest as well, so sensitive ears might want to steer clear.

I actually held off reading this one for a while, not because I wasn’t interested in its contents, but rather because I really did not want to have to review it. Though that reticence has not changed, I’ll try to put down a few thoughts. The book features essays, fiction and non, of Marina Keegan, a 2012 Yale graduate who passed away five days after her graduation in 2012. Marina was a class below me, and we crossed paths in English seminars several times. Though I can’t claim to have had the pleasure of knowing her personally, I felt very connected to much of what she had written by virtue of having inhabited the same university. Her writing is beautiful and I really enjoyed reading through each of her stories and essays. I have to say that I was particularly drawn to the short stories more so than the non-fiction works, but I think that’s just a matter of political leaning on some of them. The experience of reading her work was bittersweet, knowing that she had such talent that will never fully develop. This is a great book for someone in his or her early 20s (that’s not to say its appeal isn’t broader), especially recent graduates. In part that view is driven by the essay that the book takes its title from, which was published in the Yale Daily News shortly before her death and ultimately read over a million times. She writes of clinging sentimentally to the magic of the college experience while at the same time facing the excitement of moving on and into the so-called real world. If you want a taste of her writing, you can read the article, if you haven’t already done so, here. I think it's fair to say that if you like what you read, you'll probably enjoy her book.

I'll leave you with the following passage from her story "Cold Pastoral" that I just found myself rereading. The story is told from the perspective of a girl whose boyfriend (or to be more accurate, the guy she was hooking up with) had just died. She writes,

"I was in a seminar my senior year where we read poems by John Keats. He has this famous one called 'Ode on a Grecian Urn' where these two lovers are almost kissing, frozen with their faces cocked beneath a tree. The tragedy, the professor said, is in eternal stasis. She never fades, they never kiss; but I remember finding the whole thing vaguely romantic."

I can’t completely remember how I stumbled across this book, but it was one that I’d had in queue for a while before I finally picked it up. I initially thought that the book would explain from a scientific perspective what occurs within the brains of those who have autism that causes them to act in certain ways (for example, the sensitivity to physical contact). I hadn't done my research though. The book, which is very short, is a question and answer format discussion of a non-verbal 13 year old Japanese boy with severe autism, whereby he attempts to answer question that people often seem to wonder about him, such as why he is driven to certain behaviors and responses. His insight is certainly unique and having read this, I can say that I do have a slightly better understanding of why autistic people are driven to certain behaviors and responses.

Naoki Higashida

However, the book is clearly aimed at those with daily interactions with children who have autism, and as I do not, the contents were perhaps not as pertinent to my daily life. Also, its message, which is repeated every few pages, is basically “be patient with us,” which I suppose is a fine mantra, yet it felt extremely redundant as I was reading.

I would also note, although this may not be the most politically correct comment, that the style of the writing, the philosophy, and the boy’s responses are culturally very Asian and thus might feel a little foreign to US readers. To be honest, I really didn’t enjoy this book that much (I don’t think it’s really aimed at the general public) and plowed through it in about an hour one afternoon. But, if you have frequent interactions with someone who has severe autism, the insight provided might prove quite valuable.

Apologies for the delay in posts – I’ve been traveling a bunch in the past couple weeks, and as such haven’t quite gotten around to posting reviews of my summer reading. I’m now in the middle of reading the Game of Thrones series (currently in the middle of book 2) and will get you a post for that later in the summer. Here's the first of a series of reviews that I'll publish this week covering what I read over the last month or so. I was so enthralled with S. that I carried it around with me everywhere, showing it off to anyone who would listen. Thus far I’ve only had one convert , which perhaps suggests that the appeal isn't quite as wide as I’d initially expected. Nevertheless I remain utterly impressed and obsessed with this novel. The book is the work of a collaboration between author Doug Dorst and producer J.J. Abrams (of films such as Mission: Impossible III, Star Trek, etc.). The book comes in a black slipcover with the title S. imprinted across the top. Once the reader breaks the seal, out slips what looks like an old grey library book called the Ship of Theseus by V.M. Straka. The text printed inside is the work of the fictitious author Straka, a mysterious writer whose identity is hotly debated and zealously researched in the literary community. Also printed in the book is the marginalia of two readers, Eric and Jen, who pass the book back and forth, writing to one another about what they are reading, what they have uncovered about Straka’s identity, as well as personal thoughts and feelings. Eric is a former Ph.D. student at Pronghorn University, who was recently expelled following an altercation with his thesis advisor. Jen is an undergraduate, a senior struggling with what path to follow post graduation. Their relationship unfolds within the walls of the library and the pages of Straka’s novel. In addition to the notes written in the margins, there are various other assorted items, napkins, postcards, etc. that the two characters have left between the pages.

Overall, the book chronicles Eric and Jen’s quest to be the first to discover who Straka truly was. Enraptured by the book which I thought was a total novel idea, my friend Alex corrected me by pointing out that the Talmud, one of Rabbinical Judaism's central text, is printed in a similar fashion, with the original text at the center of the page and the marginalia of commentators printed around it. Slightly downtrodden, I countered that the printing with all of the inserts and seemingly handwritten notes alongside the text was amazing and somehow it even seemed to smell like a library book! I was then informed that paper naturally smells and is treated in newer books to remove the odor. So, for a moment, it seemed slightly less cool, but the next day I was back to loving it wholeheartedly again (novel idea or no), and having the added knowledge of printing and Judaic literature – thanks Alex! As much as I would love to recommend that everyone go out and read it, I realize after a bit of thought that this isn’t the book for everyone. This is more up the alley of someone who really loves or has studied literature, appreciates physical copies of books, and has time to devote to the reading of it. The book is lengthy (the Straka version), and once you finish reading the page, you still have the footnotes, at which point you might have to reread the text again. It was slow going for me, but I savored every minute of it.

So, last week I picked up a book with reviews that said all the right things, and elements that were seemingly perfect. It was a novel about a bookseller, an older curmudgeonly widower who runs a shop but refuses to stock anything that doesn’t appeal to his tastes. By some twist of fate, a baby is left at the man’s store with a note from the mother asking him to look after her. Certainly this would be no great work of literature, but I was looking for easy and enjoyable. Then, despite all of these plot features that were initially so appealing, I found myself at first unimpressed, then disappointed, then simply wondering when it would end (all in under 300 pages). The novel was The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin. A.J. Fikry is stalled in his life. He’s a prickly character with unyielding opinions. The books he has read shape how he interprets the world, and as such he has a very strong view on what comprises quality literature. Early on in the novel, a plot twist leaves him with a tiny girl to look after. Their relationship and the changes that it forces from this otherwise intractable character becomes the primary focus of Zevin’s story. The book is fairly short and the plot moves quickly throughout. However, my issue was ultimately that the story did not hold my interest. A little more than half way through the book, the story had its first could-be ending. But, the plot continued forward. I had seen the first exit though, and I saw several others follow. After each I grew more wary, and more ready to reach the true end. The story itself was pleasant and quaint enough, but from my perspective, not particularly memorable. I’m such a bibliophile, and stories about books would typically be my cup of tea, but this one just wasn’t. It was fine - I didn’t dislike it - but if I could go back, I’d skip it.

The film release of The Fault in Our Stars last week created a rather heated discussion about the reader base for young adult literature. Ruth Graham wrote an article for Slate lambasting the large percentage of adults who were reading fiction written for teenagers. This incited a wave of responses in magazines and newspapers across the country. To be honest, I see the merits of both sides of the argument. Yes, this is literature aimed at a much younger audience and often I am embarrassed to be reading it. I do agree that often there is more to be learned from books that are more literary and more age appropriate. However, I also know that often when readers pick up a books often they are looking to be entertained. What honestly surprised me most was learning about the reader base for this genre; I would never have guessed that only 20% of the readers of young adult fiction is the age group targeted (13-17). Many more (27%) were in the 30 – 44 group, and even more still were in the 18-29 category (34%). So, should 80% of those consuming these novels be embarrassed? Should we be reading the literary greats instead or should we just be happy that people are still reading books at all?

The entire debate came just as I was finishing up E. Lockhart’s We Were Liars, which was published last month. I had actually been deciding whether or not to purchase Emma Straub’s The Vacationers, when I saw a reference recommending Lockhart’s novel. My purchase was an impulse buy, and to be honest, I wish I had done a little more research.It’s hard to say much about the novel without giving away the plot, but the story centers around a 15 year old girl named Cadence and her summers with her family on their private island in Massachusetts. Cadence, alongside her two cousins Johnny and Mirren and their family friend Gat, make up an inseparable group that call themselves “The Liars.” Summer 15 marks a turning point. Once night Cadence is found washed up on shore, naked, hypothermic, with her memory compromised. Over the next year, she struggles to remember what happened. She turns to The Liars, her two cousins and Gat, her first love, to try to uncover a past that her family seems intent on burying. The premise sounded find to me, but I think my biggest issue was how gimmicky the book felt. Cadence belongs to a wealthy New England family that quarrels over money and has children named things like Mirren, Liberty, and Taft. They “summer” together on an island. The head of the family is Cadence’s grandfather, who shuns outsiders and punishes perceived imperfections with threats of removal from his will. The book oozes stereotypes to a nauseating degree. But that could potentially have been forgiven had the plot been compelling enough in the end – from my perspective, it wasn’t. I also didn’t find myself attached to any of the characters throughout the course of the story the way one normally does in good young adult fiction. I think one of the great things about the genre is often how much readers connect with characters like Hazel Grace and Gus from The Fault In Our Stars or Charlie from The Perks of Being a Wallflower. The emotional bond and the identifiable struggles are often where these books garner the bulk of their strength. But there are books, like Gossip Girl, for example that focus on a subset of society and make it work. What We Were Liars lacks is characters that are believable as human beings outside of the realm of fiction. These were not people who could exist outside the realm of imagination. In the end, I would recommend passing on this one. There are better beach reads out there, and others more worth of spending your money on. As to the young adult fiction debate, I think that despite the slight sense of shame I experience when I realize I’m a college-educated 25 year old who is reading stories targeted at readers a decade younger, I refuse to shun any genre as a whole. In the end, it’s better to be reading something than nothing at all.

I have always loved radio. Growing up, much to my family and carpool’s annoyance, I insisted on tuning in to hear Paul Harvey’s commentary in the morning and his “Rest of the Story” segment in the afternoon. I loved the intonations of his voice and the way that he brought the news and the lives of historical figures alive. These days not much has changed, I still can’t get enough of those magical storytellers out there (those who use their voices as well as those who employ their pens). Today, Paul Harvey’s no longer alive, but radio remains (standalone and in podcasts), albeit increasingly marginalized. What inspired Anthony Doerr’s latest novel was the realization that electromagnetic waves surround us all on a daily basis –carrying phone calls, text messages, photos, and as before, radio broadcasts. All the Light We Cannot See was far and away my favorite book of 2014 thus far. At its core are two incredible characters: Marie-Laure, a blind French girl from Paris, and Werner, an orphan from Germany. These two are on opposing sides of the war, but become connected through the waves of radio. The story begins before the war in Paris with a little girl, Marie-Laure, who has recently gone blind. She spends most of her time with her doting father, who serves as the locksmith for the Museum of Natural History in Paris. Her blindness at first leaves her isolated; but, her father carves a scale model of the city that she follows with her fingers, learning her way around and to beginning to trust her other senses to guide her. Meanwhile, Werner and his sister Jutta are being raised in a German orphanage. Werner becomes obsessed with radios, and begins to teach himself engineering. Though he is destined for work in the mines given his social status, his intelligence and drive provide an alternate path. The tale continues through the war leading to the moment that these two, swept up in the tides of war, cross paths in St. Malo, France. The elements of this story integrated quite a few personal interests of mine, including: 1. Having visited both Paris and St. Malo, and given that I have a trip to Germany planned for the summer, the settings were definitely of particular interest. 2. The book is definitely on the literary side. The writing is beautiful and the cast of characters both rich and unforgettable. That being said, the subject isn’t a particularly light one as you might imagine, and this certainly doesn’t read like a beach novel if that’s what you’re looking for. 3. I pretty much love any and all things, fiction and non, that take up the subject of WWII. Before I even began reading, I was utterly sold on the subject. 4. I love when the stories I’m reading incorporate references to other books. For example, a character that I kept thinking about while I was reading this novel was Alma Whittaker, Elizabeth Gilbert’s heroine from The Signature of All Things. Alma is an isolated child, much like Marie-Laure, who becomes obsessed with the mosses growing at her family home (not unlike Marie-Laure’s fascination with mollusks). I kept recalling Alma’s enthrallment with Charles Darwin’s The Origin of Species, as Marie-Laure read and reread Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea. Both Gilbert and Doerr’s novels made me want to run out and immediately begin these two classic works. 5. I hate sappy endings. I don’t like when everything works out perfectly and everyone lives happily ever after. It’s too unrealistic and I often feel like it cheapens the story. I like it when the story ends happily but not perfectly. I don’t want to give anything away, but I will say I was completely happy as I turned the last page. This book is definitely not to be missed, I think there is some part that will appeal to any reader. It is on the long side, but the story is just so good that you’ll actually savor over the length (500+ pages), and if you’re anything like me, wish it had gone on further. Still not convinced? Maybe the author himself can sell you on it:

I’m a sucker for book lists. Every time I see one of those compilations like “20 books to read in your 20s” or “100 Books Every Woman Should Read,” it’s like my fingers move involuntarily – I always click. One book I often see in and around these types of lists is Cheryl Strayed’s Wild. I never paid much attention and the book remained in queue for about a year. To be honest, I often find the Oprah’s Book Club stamp repellent, which was part of what kept me away (I just don’t think my taste lines up all that well with the books she chooses). But, when I finally got to it, I was a little bit sorry that I had stayed away for so long. Wild is an autobiographical account of Cheryl Strayed’s 1,100 mile hike along the Pacific Crest Trail. Following the death of her mother and the subsequent breakup of her marriage, Strayed finds herself lost. Though she knows little about what it would mean to do, she resolves to trek from California to Washington. The book covers the people she met along the trail, the difficulties she encounters, and the personal changes that result from such an arduous trip.

The PCT

While reading, I actually found myself thinking back to a few things I had read previously – Jeanette Walls’ The Glass Castle, Christopher McDougall’s Born to Run, and the Christopher McCandless story. In The Glass Castle, Walls recounts her traumatic upbringing. The upheaval that her mother’s death causes in Strayed’s life leaves her broken and lost. Along her journey she must pick up the pieces and rebuild herself. I was reminded of Walls’ childhood, albeit completely different from Strayed’s, which left her in charge of building the person she would become. The other aspect of the story that resonated with me was the theme of forging personal growth by pushing body (and mind by association) to the extreme. In Born to Run, McDougall tells of an elite class of athletes – ultra-marathoners – who push their bodies to the extreme. Christopher McCandless’ story, as told by Jon Krakauer in Into The Wild, is one which is often compared to Strayed’s. Both individuals set out to conquer their journeys alone. Many previous reviews have pointed to the inspirational similarities of both tales. To make a long story short, though I enjoyed reading the novel, I didn’t find its contents earth shattering. I thought the writing was fine, but nothing special. I enjoyed progressing through the trail and Strayed’s hike and thought her travels were an admirable way to take control of her life, and display an amazing personal fortitude. But, having previously read so many things that felt so similar, I just wasn’t blown away. One thing did stick with me: the waves of nausea as she spoke of the toenails she lost one by one due to inappropriately sized boots. But, I’m not sure that was the intention of the author. Stomach of steel I do not have. All in all, I think I’d give it three stars. Mind definitely not blown, five stars is off the table. Maybe had I read it before some of the aforementioned novels, I would have walked away with a different impression. But, I didn’t LOVE it, so take four stars out too. Yet, I didn’t DISLIKE it, which puts us right in the three star, shrug, yeah I liked it category.